


The most valuable thing a man can spend

by asterismal (asterisms)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:36:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23748457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterisms/pseuds/asterismal
Summary: He’s too old for this.Prompt fill ft. adult Harry traveling back to the marauders era, where a still semi-sane Tom Riddle seeks to recruit him.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 50
Kudos: 792
Collections: Corona Challenge





	The most valuable thing a man can spend

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
> 
> Time travel where harry, an adult, travels back to marauders era and still semi-sane Tom Riddle wanting to recruit him
> 
>   
> Title from this quote: _Time is the most valuable thing a man can spend._ Because it's on theme and I like the way it sounds.

**1975**

Calix is the first to see him.

It’s Hogsmeade weekend, which means Professor Slughorn and whatever company he keeps are just about the last things he wants to think about—only beat out by homework and the upcoming O.W.L.s. 

And yet…

Calix tugs on Avery’s sleeve. Normally, he’d try to be more discreet, but Snape is too busy sulking—casting dark looks at Black’s brother and his friends—to pay attention. 

“What?” Avery snaps. 

Calix nods toward Slughorn and his new friend. “The man with Sluggy,” he says. “Do you know who he is?”

Avery looks over, frowning. “Can’t say that I do.”

“Hmm.” Calix takes a drink of his butterbeer. “Interesting.” 

“Oh no,” Avery says, already shaking his head. “Not this again. You swore to me, Mulch.”

Calix feels his cheeks heat and glares. “This is _different.”_

Avery looks disapproving. “Sure it is.”

Calix fidgets with his mug, spinning it in place. He pushes himself to his feet. “I’m going to ask him.”

Snape looks up at him when he moves, startled. “What—?”

“Mulciber’s lost it,” Avery tells him. 

“I have _not_ ,” Calix says hotly. He scowls down at his friends, hesitating. “Are you coming?” 

Avery only sighs. 

With Avery at his back, Calix marches his way over to Slughorn’s table. Snape, who’s decided to stay behind, unwilling to bother their professor on his day off, goes back to glaring at the Gryffindors. 

When he reaches Slughorn’s table, he finds himself at a loss for words. 

He should have thought of something to say before coming over.

Avery covers for him. “Excuse me, Professor,” he says. 

Slughorn looks up at them, pausing mid-sentence. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem too upset by the interruption. His companion, however… 

Calix swallows heavily. 

His mouth feels dry, suddenly. 

“Avery,” Slughorn says with a genial smile. “Mulciber. How can I help you?”

“I, erm.” Calix rocks back on his heels. He accidentally meets the stranger’s gaze and has to clear his throat. “That is. We...”

“We’ve gotten into a bit of an argument, Professor,” Avery says, saving him again. “We were hoping you might be able to settle it for us.”

“Oh?” Slughorn looks surprised but pleased. “Do tell, my boy.” 

Calix thinks it’s about time for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

The stranger’s chair creaks when he leans back, and Calix looks to him again, not entirely by choice. The man is looking back at him. Something about him feels almost… amused. 

It’s better than angry, of course, but it isn’t doing much for Calix’s ability to breathe.

He’s never seen eyes so green. Looking out at him from a face so well-shaped, they’re devastating. 

He doesn’t hear the answer Avery gives. He doesn’t hear much of anything.

“What’s your name?” he blurts. 

In the silence that follows, he feels the sudden urge to drown himself in a large body of water. Slughorn looks appalled by his manners. He can feel Avery’s incredulous stare.

“Meyrick,” the stranger says, and Calix lets out a little sigh at the sound of his voice. “Harrrison Meyrick.” 

Then, what the man actually _said_ catches up to him.

“Meyrick?” he asks. “Oh! Are you a…? I mean, I only ask because—” He stumbles through the rest of his response, caught off guard. He feels his cheeks start to heat. “I… I’ve never, erm. Heard... That name. Before.” 

Beside him, Avery presses his face into his hands and says, muffled, “Oh, Circe.” 

Slughorn is speechless. 

Calix wishes he could say the same. 

“I’m not surprised,” the man—Harrison Meyrick, apparently—says. He seems amused again. “My father was a Muggle.” 

“And your mother?” Calix asks, because why shouldn’t he make this worse for himself?

The man gins, and Calix shivers. “The same.”

Right. Only, it doesn’t make sense, because— “Are you sure?” 

“Mr. Mulciber!” Slughorn scolds him, finally finding his voice again. “That is quite enough. Now, if you’re finished being rude, Mr. Meyrick and I have a conversation to get back to.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it!” Calix protests. He turns to Mr. Meyrick again and says, insistent, “It’s just that you’re so—” 

Before he can finish, Avery clasps one hand over his mouth. “Thank you, Professor.” Then, his voice stained, he says, “Mr. Meyrick—I’m sure no offense was meant.”

Calix shakes his head, his eyes wide. 

He pulls Avery’s hand away just long enough to say, “No offense _at all.”_

“Alright, bye.” Avery takes Calix by the arm and pulls him away, calling, “See you in class, Professor!” 

Instead of going back to their table, Avery drags him outside.

In the moment before the door swings shut, Calix catches one last glimpse of Harrison Meyrick, nodding along to whatever Slughorn is saying with a charming grin. 

“What the hell is your problem?” Avery demands once they’re secluded enough that no one will overhear.

Now it’s Calix’s turn to be incredulous. “You must be joking,” he says. “Did you or did you not just see that man?”

“Of course I saw him—”

“Then how can you even ask that!” Calix leans forward, holding Avery by the shoulders and shaking him. “We just met the most beautiful man in the world, Avery.” 

“I don’t know if I’d call him the _most_ beautiful.”

“But his eyes!” Calix proclaims. He releases Avery to clasp his hands to his heart. “His face! And—oh, Merlin—his _body._ ”

“He was wearing robes.”

Calix sighs happily, picturing them. “They were very well cut.”

Avery rolls his eyes. “He also had grey hair, Mulch,” his friend says. “Or did you not catch that part?”

“Not a lot!” Calix protests. He blushes. “And anyway, it just means that he’s… That he’s, you know, _distinguished.”_

“You mean _old.”_

Calix scowls. “Shut up!” 

“He’s probably old enough to be your father,” Avery tells him with a frankly unwarranted amount of glee. 

Before he can say anything more to defend himself, Snape finds them, in a strop about being abandoned back at the pub. As they do their best to placate their surly friend, Calix wonders if he’ll ever see Harrison Meyrick again.

He hopes he does. 

***

**1973** ****

He’s too old for this.

This is the first thought Harry has when he wakes to find himself lying flat on his back on an unfamiliar floor, doing his best to remember how he might have ended up here.

Nothing comes to mind.

For a long moment, he entertains the thought of going back to sleep.

Then he hears voices. With a long suffering sigh, Harry rolls to his feet and, with little more than a thought and a twitch of his fingers, casts an array of disillusionment and silencing spells that fall over him like a gentle rain. 

When the voices come closer, he moves toward the room’s only doorway on silent feet.

He steps out into the hall. 

It’s as run down as he expected, considering the state of the room where he woke. Shaking his head at the lack of presentation, he ghosts down the stairs, unhindered by any traps or alarms. In fact, it feels as if there’s no magic in this place at all. The thought is… troubling. 

When he finally reaches the source of the voices, he stops to stare.

Muggles. Oddly dressed ones, too. 

In fact, they look as if they’ve stepped out of an old magazine. Or, Harry thinks as he carefully moves past them, ducking through the partially collapsed doorway, as if they’d stepped out of his old photo album.

The impression only grows stronger as he walks out of the alley and into the street.

He isn’t where he belongs. 

Something has gone very, _very_ wrong. 

He was right. 

Only, it’s not just a matter of where he belongs, but also when _._ He’s landed himself in the past—forty-five _years_ into the past, to be exact.

Seven years before his birth. 

He takes his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose. _“Fuck.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided that Harry is going grey a little early for those with magical blood but it's okay bc he's _earned_ those grey hairs one by one. 
> 
> his life is so stressful and tom riddle is Not here to help


End file.
